


A Mirror Darkly

by Rabenschnabel



Category: Hannibal (TV), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: But just a little, Cannibalism, Frottage, M/M, Mild Smut, Morally Grey Harry Potter, eldritch horror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-23
Updated: 2019-12-23
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:21:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21915163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rabenschnabel/pseuds/Rabenschnabel
Summary: Dr. Tom Marvolo Riddle, psychiatrist, has been waiting for someone like Harry Potter, behavioral consultant, all his life.Meanwhile, Harry is about to find out just how deep the devotion of the notorious serial killer known as the Crossroad King really runs.A Hannibal AU
Relationships: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle, Harry Potter/Tom Riddle | Voldemort
Comments: 16
Kudos: 457
Collections: Chamber of Secrets' Winter Exchange (2019), I. T. R, One Shot





	A Mirror Darkly

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Wassereis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wassereis/gifts).



> This is my winter-exchange fic for wassereis or lilithb on the CoS server, so I will stay anonymous as author until the 25th. I hope you like it, lilith, I worked really hard on this :) 
> 
> It was beta'ed by the lovely aubry, or @wolf_of_lilacs on here, who made sure it was the best it could be which I'm ever so thankful for :sluglove:
> 
> I've been meaning to write a Tomarry as Hannigram fic for ages, so I'm glad this exchange gave me a chance to finally write and publish one <3

Harry sat in his old beat-up car in front of Tom Riddle's psychiatrist's office and tried to talk himself out of the idea. 

It had seemed terribly simple at the time: ever since they'd got started on the newest case that morning, he hadn't been feeling well. So when he'd arrived home he'd sat in his driveway for approximately ten minutes before turning around and driving back towards the city. 

The one and a half hour drive in the pouring rain had done little to calm his racing heart and even now, the unforgiving staccato of the raindrops on his windshield seemed to mock him. He felt like every drop was a needle in his brain, prodding, poking, _annoying_ him without reprieve. 

His shoulders were tense and his neck already stiff when he finally unbuckled himself, ran through the rain and opened the unlocked front door leading to the waiting room for Tom's office. He was struck by a strange realisation then and wondered when exactly Dr Riddle and Mr Potter had become Tom and Harry. 

The tension in his body, meanwhile, seemed to grow and build up impossibly higher until it reached the boiling point when he knocked on the ornate wooden door. 

It seemed to take an eternity, but finally, finally the door opened and Tom's dark eyes peered curiously down at him. 

"Harry?" Tom sounded tired, and Harry felt almost bad about coming to him so late. 

"I need to talk to you," Harry pressed out and walked past Tom into the spacious office before he could change his mind. 

He felt his tension melt away upon entering the familiar room. There was some calm piece of classical music or other playing in the background, and a glass of red wine on Tom's desk told him he might have interrupted an evening of quiet relaxation. 

He started to feel bad for barging in but Tom wordlessly walked past him towards a commode where he kept his alcohol and an assortment of glasses. He came back with a glass of wine for Harry. 

"Thanks," Harry said and flinched a little when their fingers touched accidentally as he accepted the glass. 

"You are stressed. Come, sit down," Tom told him and indicated one of the low comfortable armchairs. 

"Thanks," Harry replied again, cringing internally at his monosyllabic answers. 

"What brings you here then, Harry? We don't have an appointment, and you've never visited me out of the blue like this before." 

Harry sniffed at his wine like he'd seen Tom do, mostly to have time to think of an answer. 

"There's a case," Harry started, tugging at one of his sleeves. He chuckled without joy. "It's always a case, isn't it? It's about my mentor, Dumbledore. About his sister and father, in particular. I told you about them some months ago." 

Tom frowned, scrunching up his fine eyebrows in thought. "Ah, of course—they had been murdered by burglars a long time ago if I remember correctly?" 

"Yeah, but also no." Harry ran his hand through his hair and felt how it stayed sticking up all over the place. He tried to pat it down, only to give up halfway through and bury his face in his hands. "It was Gellert, Gellert Grindelwald, Albus' best friend. I… I grew up with the guy, Tom—when I was little, and Dad was still alive, we used to go over to the Dumbledores' every fortnight for dinner. Hell, I used to spend Thanksgiving with them, and Grindelwald was there too, and now it's come out through DNA testing that _he_ was the one who killed Ariana and Mr Dumbledore when they were all young?"

Harry was up and pacing in a flurry of nervous energy. He was only half-aware of Tom getting up with him. 

"So now you're what, Harry? Frustrated? Disillusioned?" Tom sat on the backrest of his chair with crossed arms, watching Harry's pacing. "Disappointed? Talk to me." 

"Yes, well, no. Yes. All of them at once, maybe?" Harry leaned with his back against the sliding ladder and sank down until he was a crumpled mess at the bottom of it. "Mostly I'm disappointed in myself, I guess. I should have known it was Gellert—I _always_ know these things, Tom. It's who I am!" 

Harry heard more than saw Tom walk over to him and was soon confronted with the tips of the man's shiny, doubtlessly expensive shoes. 

"Do get up, Harry," Tom said with a smile in his voice and when Harry looked up, the man's elegant face looked as inviting as it looked handsome. "Here, take my hand." 

Harry did as he was told and took the proffered hand. With surprising strength, Tom managed to pull him up and Harry almost lost his balance from the force of it. 

His free hand on Tom's shoulder stopped them from colliding and he saw something like amusement shine in Tom's eyes. 

"Sorry," Harry immediately offered and let go of both hand and shoulder.

"Not at all," Tom replied with a slight shake of his head. "I must have overestimated your weight—have you been eating, Harry?" 

"I'm, I wasn't… there's been a lot of work with another case, alright? The Crossroad King struck again over the last couple weeks." Harry massaged his temples where he felt a headache coming on. "The bureau needs me, Albus needs me. And now that it's come out that it was Grindelwald who murdered his family… he's gonna need all the help he can get so I try to help where I can." 

"Surely Albus would understand if you were to take a break every now and again to care for yourself?" 

Harry allowed Tom to lead them over to the couch and sank down gratefully. 

They were quiet for a moment and Harry wasn't entirely sure what to say. He had never taken a break just because he needed it. When there was work to be done, it got done, no questions asked. Taking time for himself when there were people dying, murderers on the loose—it just didn't make sense. 

"I think you're under a lot of stress lately, my dear Harry," Tom finally said in that soothing, warm voice of his. His hand was still on Harry's elbow. "Allow me to cook for you today. We can talk more over dinner." 

"Oh, no, nonono, I wouldn't want to intrude, Tom," Harry immediately replied, shaking his head. "It's bad enough I just came here without an appointment and everything."

"Don't you think we have transcended above mere psychiatrist and patient, Harry?" Tom's hand on Harry's arm was warm and the smile on the man's face was so gentle that Harry felt a blush creeping up his neck. 

He knew, of course. Had known for quite a while, in fact, that Tom had cultivated tender feelings for him, just like he had started thinking about the man outside of their sessions too. Still… 

"Don't they teach you in psychiatry school that being friends with your patients is bad?" Harry laughed nervously, never quite meeting Tom's eyes, like he never quite met anyone's eyes. 

"I have billed neither the FBI nor your - frankly speaking - atrocious insurance for quite some time now," Tom shared with a conspiratorial grin. "Strictly speaking, all we're having is scheduled conversations. And now we're not even scheduled to speak, so where does that leave us?" 

Harry smiled lopsidedly at his feet and hunched his shoulders. Leave it to someone like Tom to find loopholes where there shouldn't be any. 

"I guess that makes us friends," Harry admitted, ears red. "Alright, I'll accept your invitation. I could drive if you want? To your place, I mean. I haven't touched my wine yet." 

"That would be marvelous," Tom replied with that maddeningly charming smile of his. For a brief moment, Harry wondered what exactly he'd just agreed to. 

-o-

Tom's home was much like his office and the man himself: elegant, classy and frightfully expensive. Rich, dark colours adorned the tastefully decorated walls and a bouquet that must have cost more than Harry earned in a month was the centerpiece on Tom's massive dining table. 

"You look tense again, Harry," Tom asserted as he took Harry's ratty jacket and hung it up on the coat rack. "Do you often find yourself overwhelmed by new surroundings?" 

"I thought we were here as friends," Harry countered, nervously pushing his glasses up his nose even though they hadn't slid down. 

"Ah, my mistake," Tom replied and led Harry into a spacious kitchen that might have fit all of Harry's little cottage. "The psychiatrist's eternal struggle: we can never quite shut our job out of our personal lives. In this case, I was merely asking as your friend so that I might make you more comfortable." 

Harry could have sworn he saw Tom wink at him and busied himself with cleaning his glasses, just in case. When he put them on again, Tom was already getting out ingredients from a fridge that was big enough to hold groceries for a family of ten. Harry drew in a deep breath before speaking. "No, I'm, it's alright. I didn't mean to insult you or anything." 

Tom stopped marinating whatever exclusive piece of meat he must have procured from some gourmet shop or other to look at Harry over his shoulder. The rebellious locks on his forehead fell into his eyes and Harry quickly looked away. Tom chuckled and kept working. "No offense taken, Harry. I know you don't have an impolite bone in your body." 

Harry chuckled and let his gaze drift over the sparkling stainless steel countertops and sighed. "I actually just… kinda feel like I don't belong here? I mean, my clothes have seen better days and I haven't shaved in… I don't even know how long it's been, if I'm being honest." He took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose when he felt the muscles in his shoulders tense back up. 

After he'd sat like this for some time, he sensed Tom standing in front of him. The man was a warm, solid presence and a small smile tugged at the corner of Harry's mouth. 

He slowly opened his eyes and went to put his glasses back on but Tom gently stopped him mid-motion. When he looked down at Tom's hand, the man's finely manicured nails were in stark contrast to his own rough calloused skin. 

Harry looked up at Tom questioningly and was surprised to hear the man's breath catch in his throat. For a moment, all he could do was stare into Tom's deep, dark chocolate eyes and wonder what secrets he might find there if only he kept looking. 

"Your eyes are out of this world, Harry," Tom said, enraptured, and the spell was broken. 

Harry looked back down at his feet and wrestled his glasses on his face with his free hand. "The only thing my mum left me, except for a mountain of abandonment issues," he quipped but neither of them laughed. 

He wondered what Tom had seen during their eye contact. If there was one fact about Tom that was both unnerving and admirable, it was that the man's gaze was almost as keen as his own—a fact that had Harry both thrilled and cautious. 

Tom cleared his throat. "You're always welcome here, my dear Harry, I promise you that. Shabby clothes and all. Though I _would_ take you shopping, if you'd only let me." 

"I don't need handouts," Harry declined, crossing his arms.

Tom merely sighed and went back to cooking. It was starting to smell nice and Harry's stomach rumbled. "You wanted to tell me more about why it shocked you so that it was your family friend who killed the Dumbledores." 

"Right, yes," Harry nodded. "You see, I thought I knew him. Nothing ever seemed off about him… I mean, he was a little weird but Albus was also always a little weird. You know him, no department head at the FBI has ever been as successful—yet no one as controversial at the same time." 

"He does have his own set of peculiarities," Tom agreed with a small smirk. "His suits alone…" 

They laughed together and Harry remembered some of Albus Dumbledore's more outlandish choices of attire. One in particular, bright yellow, sprung to the forefront of his mind. 

"No, stop making me think of that, I'm in the mood for sad recollection," he giggled, noticing how Tom's eyes shone when he watched Harry laugh.

"By all means, do recollect sadly," Tom shot back and Harry had to duck his face to hide his fond smile. 

He wondered why other people couldn't be as easy to be around as Tom. Harry didn't make it a habit of thinking too highly of himself, but he knew that there were few people who could measure up to his level of wit. 

Thankfully, for some obscure reason, fate had brought him and Tom together and for the first time in his life, Harry felt like he was speaking to an equal. Someone who knew the human mind as well as he did but from another perspective entirely—a rare occurrence. 

When he looked up again, Tom was still gazing at him and when their eyes met, Harry inexplicably saw his very same emotions mirrored in Tom's handsome face. 

Time seemed to slow and became viscous like toffee, and the pendulum swung, swung, swung... and **stopped.**

Harry opened his second set of eyes. 

_"I have Harry Potter right where I want him. The roast I have carefully prepared for only the two of us is baking in the oven and we are sharing an intimate moment._

_He has opened up today and before the evening is over, our bond will have strengthened. When he leaves, **if** he leaves, I will kiss him goodnight on the cheek and his breath will still smell of the dessert I have prepared for him._

_He will see me as I see him and fate has willed it, so that we should both only be complete once we are part of each other."_

His second eyes closed. 

"This… is my design." 

"Harry?" Tom's voice was suddenly very close. The man looked worried and confused and his hands were on Harry's shoulders. "You've been gone for quite some time. Did you… have a vision?" 

Tom looked uncomfortable and Harry could hardly fault him for it. 

"I did," he confirmed quickly, feeling a blush rising up his cheeks. "I know you're planning on kissing me goodbye tonight—if I even leave." 

Tom looked delighted once more, all traces of worry gone, and he squeezed Harry's shoulders before turning back to the oven which beeped just as he reached it. 

Harry refused to give voice to the sappy sigh threatening to escape his mouth and instead went over to help Tom carry everything to the next room. 

-o-

"A simple pot roast with onions, carrots and sweet potatoes, garnished with thyme and laurel leaves," Tom presented when he opened the lid of the casserole dish. "It's not much but if I'd known I'd have company, well–" 

"Not much?" Harry stared at the artfully arranged roast and shook his head. "This looks better than anything I've ever eaten in my _life!_ I'd almost feel bad cutting into that." 

"That would be a shame," Tom tutted while he carved the roast with a frightfully sharp knife. "I'd be ever so disappointed if it went to waste." 

"I said almost." Harry grinned and held out his plate. 

The first bite was heaven and he continued to ascend higher with each forkful. 

"This is the best thing I've ever eaten, Tom, whether home-cooked or in a restaurant," Harry complimented earnestly. "Please remind me of that when I tell you 'no' the next time you invite me to dinner." 

Tom only smiled at him and continued eating. Harry let his mind wander a little while he enjoyed the tender meat, and his thoughts circled back to Gellert of its own accord. 

"It's so strange," Harry started wistfully. "You think you know someone, and then you find out that they're someone else entirely. I thought I knew Gellert. He was… that weird uncle figure I had, but now I'm rethinking everything." 

Tom kept chewing thoughtfully and watched Harry with a pensive expression. When he was done with his mouthful, he dabbed at his mouth with a napkin. "You feel like he may have lied to you? That his friendship to you was only a facade? An act?" 

"I guess so? No, I think that's definitely a part of it." Harry felt tiredness pull at him and ran his hand over his face. "It's just, I've never had that happen before. And it's strange, but it feels like I've failed." 

"You haven't failed, Harry." Tom sounded confident and met Harry's eyes with a determined gaze. "No one can even categorise what your ability truly is so there's no way to know about its limitations ahead of time. It can hardly be expected of you to keep tabs on everyone you have ever encountered in your life." 

Harry nodded because he desperately wanted to agree with Tom, but there was this nagging voice at the back of his head telling him that it just wasn't true. He _had_ to save everyone he could, flush out all the scum, the murderers, the dregs of society. If he couldn't, no one would. And he still had to atone for—

"Harry." Tom's voice broke him out of his thoughts and Harry was surprised to see his hands were trembling. "You've been spaced out again. Please eat before the food goes cold." 

Harry nodded wordlessly and was sad to find that the meat now seemed to turn to ash once it hit his tongue. They finished the main course in silence and once they were done, Tom got up and cleared the table with precise, studied movements. "Bear with me while I go fetch dessert."

Dessert, as it turned out, was a sphere of white chocolate that Tom poured hot dark chocolate over. It was a little like the man was working magic when it broke open from the heat and revealed a soft chocolate cake on the inside. To Harry's utter delight, unlike the main course, there was no taste of ash in sight. 

When he'd finished eating every last piece of white chocolate on his plate, Harry leaned back in his chair contentedly and wondered when his belly had last been so full. Tom, meanwhile, was watching him with a fond expression which had a warmth bloom in Harry's cheeks that stemmed not only from a good meal. 

"Thanks for the food, Tom. It was delicious." 

"You're welcome," Tom replied easily. 

It was strange but there was a ghost of… _something_ passing over Tom's face. The table separating them was long so Harry couldn't quite make out the glint in Tom's eyes but he was sure it was there. He wondered why he suddenly felt like he did when he went out into the woods surrounding his house at night.

Watched, no, studied by that not-quite-there presence lurking in every shadow that made the hair at the back of his neck stand up. 

"Let's do away with the pretensions now, Harry." Tom pushed his chair back and came towards him. 

Harry frowned and watched Tom's approach warily. "There's something else you're not telling me. You are still very, very tense when you would have normally already calmed down considerably in my presence. I would have you tell me what's the matter." 

Tom stopped next to his chair and extended a hand to him. It was almost a reflex for Harry to take it. Tom didn't let go when they started walking and Harry followed obediently until they'd arrived in what had to be the living room. They sat down on a big leather couch, Tom's hand still loosely wrapped around his. 

"Now, Harry… I'm listening." 

Harry still wasn't exactly sure what was going on. He had an idea, of course, but surely not—

"What are we talking about here, Tom?" He had half a mind to pull his hand away but couldn't make himself do it. 

"There's something about your ability you're not telling anyone: neither Albus nor Hermione… not even me." Tom was looking him straight in the eye now and Harry felt the hairs at the back of his neck stand up. "So tell me, Harry—what kinds of people do you normally manage to analyse so completely that you can see through their eyes? Feel what they're feeling? Almost like… you're doing what they're doing?" 

Harry almost pulled away from Tom but stopped himself in time. Their hands were still joined on the soft, supple leather of the couch. 

How? Had Tom truly been able to suss out his secret? Harry felt sweat bead on his forehead. 

"You know so much about people, Harry, but tell me," Tom prompted, "have you ever had a vision of a normal passerby you met while walking down the street? While talking to Hermione Granger? While grocery shopping?" 

Harry slowly shook his head, not liking at all where this was going. He couldn't stop returning Tom's intense gaze, though, and prayed for the man to both stop and to _please keep going._

"Isn't it true that you only have visions of murderers? Of killers? Assassins?" Tom's smirk turned triumphant as Harry paled. "Your quick pulse tells me I'm onto something here, Harry." 

That was enough to let the panic in Harry's throat overflow and he pulled his hand from Tom's loose grip. 

"I have absolutely no idea what you're insinuating, Tom," he spat out with a trembling voice. "I'm going now!" 

He turned around and started walking back towards the entrance but as he reached the doorway, Tom's arm stopped him from continuing. Startled, Harry realised he hadn't even heard the man's approach. 

"Do stay, Harry," Tom purred in a voice he'd never used before. "I didn't mean to spook you. I only ask that you consider the… implications." 

"What implications are you referring…" 

Harry's voice broke off and his eyes widened as he slowly turned his head towards Tom. 

_I will kiss him goodnight on the cheek and his breath will still smell of the dessert I have prepared for him._

How _had_ he known so intimately what was going through Tom's mind? 

"I can _see you,_ Harry." 

It was one simple sentence but with how momentous its effect on Harry was, it might as well have been a book, a novel, a magnum opus! 

Tom's eyes seemed to contain an unearthly fire when Harry dared look into them, and he almost shrank back from the intensity of the man's gaze. 

"Don't," Tom commanded, voice rough, "don't you dare look away now, Harry Potter. Tell me what you see." 

Harry allowed himself to swallow against the sudden dryness of his mouth but made no further move to pull away. He hadn't invited it like he normally did, just like back in the kitchen, but the pendulum swung anyhow. 

_"Once again, I have Harry Potter right where I want him. He looks into my eyes and wonders whether the monster he sees contained behind them nests inside me or is just a mirror image of the one residing in his own chest._

_I have laid out a trail of breadcrumbs and he has followed it of his own accord right into my gingerbread house._

_Once he enters, he is home. Once he is home, he is mine. And once he's mine… I am his."_

"This is my design."

Harry gasped when he snapped back into his body and was surprised to find his knees shaky and weak. 

Ever watchful, ever the gentleman, Tom held him up by the elbows; it felt like his touch _burned through his very skin._

"I can _see you, Harry_ ," Tom repeated, fiery eyes boring into his, and Harry gasped when a sudden headache seemed to split his very being in half. 

His hands escaped Tom's grasp and flew up to his forehead. 

"Tom, what are you… what…" 

"Tell me, Harry," Tom demanded, voice high and triumphant, "what you felt when you killed Quirrell all those months ago." 

"I had to kill him, Tom, he was going to kill–" 

"You killed a bad man, Harry, I know, I know," Tom cooed at him, sinking to his knees next to Harry. 

Surprised, Harry thought that he had probably fallen to his knees first even if he hadn't actually noticed any of it. As it was, he found himself rocking back and forth and holding so firmly onto his head that he was afraid it would fall off if he let go. 

Tom's arms circled around him and held him close. He smelled nice and clean, but the pain just wouldn't stop. 

"I know you enjoyed killing him, Harry," Tom finally whispered into his ear and the pain disappeared. 

Harry went very, very still in Tom's arms and detachedly wondered about how blissfully empty his head felt, now that the pain was gone. 

When the thoughts came crashing back in like a rogue wave, Harry felt like he got whiplash and buried his hot face in the expensive fabric of Tom's shirt. For a little while, it was enough to just breathe in Tom's scent and exist in the strange time pocket that had materialised inside the doorway. 

"You're right," Harry finally whispered into the stillness between them and he felt Tom tense against him. "I enjoyed it. I'd do it again in a heartbeat if I had to."

Tom's arms around him tightened and when he spoke, there was a hint of desperate longing in his voice. "Only if you had to?" 

Harry could feel his heart beating in his throat now. His fingers twitched where they were holding onto the back of Tom's suit jacket and he forced himself to let go. 

"I think I shared enough for the moment," Harry said slowly and leaned back to look up into Tom's eyes. "We should take turns. Even the playing ground a little." 

Tom smiled at him but where his smile was normally warm and inviting, it now held an edge. Tom was _pleased._

"It's close to midnight, Harry," the man told him and pulled Harry with him as he got up. "We should go to bed. I have a guest room you can use." 

It felt like a cop-out to Harry but he was tired enough to take it for the day. "You're probably right, Tom, I should rest. It's been a stressful day." 

"We'll talk more tomorrow after work, darling," Tom promised. "Come back here after you've finished." 

"Alright, I will," Harry agreed with a blush and followed Tom towards the guest bedroom. 

Once there, he swallowed at the decadent functionality of it. The bed was a grand affair with golden covers and probably a higher thread count than all of Harry's sheets combined. Other than that, there was a dark wood desk with a matching chair, a nightstand with a bedside lamp that should have been corny but wasn't and an ensuite bathroom three times bigger than his only bathroom back in Wolf's Creek. 

"I will see you tomorrow, Harry," Tom said and stepped close. 

Harry's breath hitched in his throat and he closed his eyes as Tom leaned even closer towards him—still, he refused to budge an inch. Hot puffs of air ghosted over his cheek, making it feel like Tom was quietly chuckling, and a pair of soft, warm lips came to rest on the hot skin right above where his stubble ended. Had he ever flushed so hard before? 

"Goodnight, darling," Tom smugly whispered against his skin and if at all possible, Harry swore his blush must have spread right down to his toes. "There's clothes for you in the closet." 

Harry looked inside the room again and noticed the sleek wooden dresser over in one corner.

"You prepared for this? For me?" he asked, incredulous, but by then Tom was already walking away with a raised hand.

When the man had disappeared around the corner without an answer, Harry closed the door and leaned his forehead against the smooth dark wood with a groan. 

-o-

When he entered the kitchen the next morning, there was a breakfast waiting for him under a glass cover. It was only sandwiches but apparently, even _sandwiches_ made by Tom tasted like fucking heaven. 

The food had come accompanied by a note on thick, velvety paper and after he'd devoured the first half of his sandwich, Harry started to read it. 

_Dear Harry,_

_I am very sorry I had to leave before you woke up but being your own employer means a grueling work schedule from time to time._

_Should you wish to take me up on my offer, my door will be open for you this evening._

_I would be delighted to have your company once more._

_Yours,_

_Tom_

Harry's heart beat faster as he remembered how the evening had gone. How much he'd revealed, how close he'd come to—

The letter crumpled in his hand as his breathing became more erratic. Had it been wise? The dreams he'd had that night seemed to agree with his assessment that there was more to Tom Marvolo Riddle than met the eye. 

Harry had been seeing a naga, half man, half snake, in his dreams (and sometimes in reality) for months now, of course, but this was the first time it had had an actual face and not just… the idea of one. Remembering Tom's dream alter ego with its serpentine body and gleaming red eyes felt like a bucket of cold water and Harry shivered involuntarily.

He pawed at the well-fitting sleeve of the shirt Tom had apparently prepared for just this occasion and wondered just how deep it all ran. He'd noticed the lingering glances, of course, the closeness, the waltz they'd both been dancing around each other. 

The rhythm had been easy and repetitive. Familiar. Dancing with Tom had seemed like finally finding someone who wouldn't step on his toes and who wouldn't constantly ask him to look up from their feet. 

But now that Harry had been swept off his feet by Tom, part of the dance though it was, he felt like he'd lost his balance. 

Harry folded the note, put it in the pocket of his jacket and left the house. The fit of the clothes was perfect and it definitely _looked_ like something he would wear—the only problem he was faced with was that the fabric and the quality was a lot nicer than he was used to. 

With discreetly heated cheeks, he tried not to think about the fact that he was also wearing underpants picked out for him by Tom. Apparently, Tom seemed to think Harry wore his pants a lot tighter than he actually did. 

When he arrived in the campus parking lot, Harry spent a long moment centering himself. Whatever had happened the evening before, whatever was about to happen this evening, it was not going to interfere with his work. 

-o-

Harry was surprised to find Aberforth Dumbledore of all people waiting at his car after he'd finished teaching for the day.

"Harry," the old man greeted him, "can we talk a bit?" 

He'd expected _Albus_ to want to talk to him, actually. The whole revelation about Gellert the day before had left its mark on the old man who'd looked ancient and weary. But instead of talking about it, Albus had avoided every possible opportunity for a one-on-one talk with Harry the day before. 

"Sure. You wanna talk here?" 

"No, I think we should just… go for a ride, maybe," Aberforth sighed. "I can't have Albus see me talking to you." 

To say Harry was intrigued was putting it lightly. 

They were soon cruising aimlessly over some nondescript country road and Harry waited for the clearly agitated Aberforth to come to a conclusion. He could sense hesitation and guilt and shame radiating off his old friend. 

"You'd best pull over here, Harry," Aberforth advised and Harry pulled over at the curb. 

"Why? You need my full attention?" 

"Unfortunately yes," Aberforth agreed and fidgeted with his beard. "I also wouldn't want you to drive us into a tree or another car because I'm planning on living my remaining years in health."

"Fair enough." Harry pulled the key out of the ignition and turned a little more towards Aberforth. "What's got you so secretive? Is it about Gellert?" 

"Of course it's about Gellert fucking Grindelwald," Aberforth hissed at him and Harry drew back a little at the intensity of it. "Everything has gone as wrong as it could possibly have gone and it's _all my fault, Harry._ I could have—right from the beginning, I could have…" 

"Aberforth," Harry said cautiously, "what are you talking about? Do you miss him already? You can go visit him in prison any time, you know?" 

Where the old man had seemed shaken up until now, his gaze suddenly became very intense. The sharp, light blue of Aberforth's eyes was eerily similar to that of his brother and Harry was reminded of the fact that just because Aberforth had decided to become a bartender instead of something more prestigious didn't mean he was any less brilliant than his brother. 

"I'm about to tell you a secret I haven't told anyone in the 50 years I've been keeping it, Harry." 

Maybe it was the tone of voice in which it was said or the determined glint in Aberforth's eyes when he said it—but something about this sentence made Harry realise that his bedrock would no longer be safe once this conversation was over. 

-o-

It was late when he rang the doorbell at Tom's house. Too late if he was being honest with himself but it was a Friday and they'd made a deal so he refused to feel bad. 

Judging by how quick the door opened, Tom had been waiting. 

"Harry," he greeted with a fond smile, only for it to turn into a frown when he took in Harry's appearance. "Are you alright?" 

"Am I–" Harry shook his head forcefully. "No, I'm really, _really_ not." 

Tom led him inside but didn't prompt him any further yet, which Harry was immensely thankful for. 

"I've prepared Gyūtan teishoku, a Japanese dish. I hope you're hungry?" 

With how hopeful Tom sounded, Harry swallowed against the lump in his throat and tried to adopt a cheerful expression. "No, sure, I'll eat," he promised. 

And just like the day before, dinner was delicious and looked like it was plucked right out of a fancy cooking show. Gyūtan teishoku turned out to be grilled beef tongue and while hesitant at the concept, Harry found he enjoyed the creamy texture of the soft meat. 

"Wine with dessert? It's friday, so you don't have work tomorrow, I hope?"

_Stay here with me. Don't leave._

It was the first time either of them had said anything since Harry had arrived. Harry could feel the tension radiating from Tom—he was waiting. Less like a predator ready to strike and more like a tame wolf desperate for feeding time. 

Harry could feel the shift between them in the very atmosphere of the room. The air tasted almost sweet and cloying and he knew without looking that Tom was watching every one of his movements intently. 

Waiting for an opening, an invitation, anything. 

Harry had known the man would break before dessert. 

"Yes to the dessert, no to the wine," he finally replied and took off his glasses. 

Tom's breath hitched in his throat and Harry watched his back as he left the room to get dessert. It was as if the wind had turned. Yesterday, Tom had been hunting for him and ultimately caught his price—only to release it immediately afterwards. 

_If you love something, set it free,_ his subconscious helpfully supplied. _If it doesn't return, it was never yours in the first place._

Harry's eyes narrowed in thought when he realised that he'd indeed returned. And judging by Tom's behaviour, the ball was firmly in his court now. There would be no more pushing today. 

"It was Albus," Harry said flatly when Tom returned with two bowls in his hands. 

He noticed the exact moment his words registered in the man's brain and was relieved when the bowls didn't drop. He'd never seen Tom genuinely surprised before but now, his eyes were wide and his gaze haunted. 

"Albus? Albus Dumbledore killed his own sister?" Harry nodded sagely and watched Tom place one of the bowls in front of him with a minute tremor in his hand. "Why'd he kill his baby sister?" 

Harry would have expected a touch of shock and dismay from Tom at the prospect that an old friend had turned out to be a murderer but the frightful visage of pure, seething _anger_ marring Tom's handsome features came out of the blue. 

"Apparently, old man Dumbledore, father of Albus, Aberforth and Ariana, had a bit of a temper when drunk," he explained. "Aberforth told me today. Ariana had neurological problems after their dad had dropped her when she was small, Aberforth hid himself into his own little bubble and Albus… Albus took after his father and drank too much." 

"He doesn't drink now," Tom replied, still standing next to the table and listening to Harry's tale. 

"No, he doesn't," Harry agreed, "and this whole thing is why. You see, he'd made a new friend who liked alcohol and partying and late-night excursions as much as him." 

"Grindelwald?" 

"The very same. One time, when they came home in the middle of the night, daddy was just as drunk as they were and he and Albus started fighting." Here, Harry dropped his gaze. Aberforth had shown him a picture of their sister and her smile had been sweet and kind. "Ariana tried to stop them from fighting and, well… both father and daughter fell when Grindelwald stepped in to help his friend. There was a shuffle between all four of them and father and daughter lost their footing. The father hit his head on a table and bled out and Ariana snapped her neck when she landed on an upturned chair."

"His own sister," Tom seethed and slammed his fist against the tabletop. Their desserts rattled ominously. "That bastard! He knew? He knew all this time and he told people they'd fought off burglars!?" 

Harry sighed and nodded wearily. "Yeah… And on top of that, there was apparently more to his and Gellert's relationship than just being friends but Albus never wanted to go public." 

He thought it a crime on its own to have to hide for so long and even felt a pang of pity for Grindelwald. 

"Let me guess," Tom hissed. "Grindelwald threatened to make their relationship public? Despicable. And Albus retaliates by making him out to be solely responsible for murders against his own family that they committed together? He wrote that anonymous letter that led to more DNA testing?" 

"I assume it was him who sent it, yes. And Aberforth was very young when all this happened, and Gellert was apparently so very drunk that he has no recollection of the night." Harry sighed. "Albus made his brother swear not to tell because he was only 14 at the time and would have gone into foster care if Albus had been tried. And Gellert was, until yesterday, of the opinion that they'd bravely fought off the burglars before they could kill poor Aberforth too."

"And now Aberforth has come clean. He did not want Gellert to take the blame alone, I imagine?" 

"Said he was done being used by his brother," Harry shrugged. "Another branch of the bureau is doing the investigation now, so I'm out. I might have to stand witness but other than that… what a mess." 

"Without Albus, you're out of a job." 

"I still do teaching. Teaching is… better for my mind, in any case. And my free time." 

"Albus Dumbledore, guilty of murder in a case of double homicide—never thought I'd see the day." 

Harry finally tore his gaze away from somewhere around Tom's chest and looked at his dessert to have something else to think about for a while. 

"What is it? Something exotic and expensive and little-known probably, but what exactly?" 

Tom schooled his features back into his easy-going smile and slid the bowl fully over to Harry. 

"Ah, of course. Today, I've prepared a white mousse au chocolat with a raspberry center for you. You need only poke it once, and it will all come flowing out." 

"Artistic," Harry complimented before stopping with the delicate silver spoon halfway on the way to the bowl. "Wait… _white_ chocolate again?" 

Tom merely gave that pleased little smile of his while he watched him work it out. Harry closed his eyes and cursed how long this day had been and how long it was going to be yet.

Albus was Latin for white. Tom hadn't even _tried_ to be subtle.

"What did you do, Tom," Harry asked flatly and noticed with interest how his voice didn't even rise at the end of the sentence. "More importantly… how did you know?" 

Tom looked immensely pleased with the second question. "Secrets have this terrible habit of getting out, Harry," he practically purred and brought his spoon to his lips. "I am _very good_ at sniffing them out." 

Harry considered that for a moment and thought it a rather peculiar sort of irony that Tom had been faster than him on this. His stomach, meanwhile, made a valiant effort of trying to somersault out of his torso. 

This time, his spoon didn't stop and he stabbed it almost viciously into the perfectly smooth white surface of the chocolate mousse. As promised, a veritable gush of red sauce spread out over the white expanse and when he spooned the mixture into his mouth, it seemed to melt on his tongue. 

"Impressive," Harry whistled. "Does it have a name?" 

"Not yet," Tom admitted. "It's one of my own creations: I was considering calling it 'Rouge sur Blanc'." 

Harry felt a smile tug at the corner of his mouth and ducked his head. "I understand." 

Eating the dessert felt almost sinful. The realisation of what exactly he was putting into his mouth, his _body,_ had Harry's heart beat faster. The chocolate mousse was soft and fluffy without being too cloyingly sweet while the raspberry ragout had a flavour just the right side of tart. 

-o-

After dinner, they found themselves back on Tom's expensive leather couch, each with a glass of wine in their hands.

"I had wondered whether you would return here today," Tom admitted after they'd both sipped silently at their glasses for a while. 

"No you didn't," Harry almost-snorted. "You're way too cock sure about yourself." 

Harry congratulated himself silently when Tom choked on his wine. 

"No, that's fair," the man admitted after he'd gotten his composure back. There was an exquisite blush on his cheeks now. "I'll let you have that one." 

"Since when have you known?"

Tom took another sip from his wine glass. "You need to be more specific, Harry. Are you talking about Albus? Or… are you perhaps talking about yourself?" 

Harry couldn't quite keep himself from bristling at the challenging tone of Tom's voice. Patience, he bade himself, all good things come to those who wait. 

"It's your turn now, Tom Riddle."

Tom's eyes hooded over at the dark tone of Harry's voice. 

"I've known ever since I first walked into Albus Dumbledore's office. Both of you were there and both of you were desperate in your own way. Dumbledore was a broken man who tried to make good on his failings by overcompensating at his workplace. I didn't know his demon's face but knew of its existence nonetheless." Tom crossed one leg over the other by resting his ankle on his knee. "You, on the other hand…" 

Here, the man let his head loll back onto the backrest of his couch and stared at the ceiling. His neck thus overextended made the swell of his adam's apple look almost criminally alluring. 

"You were another matter entirely, of course. Your guilt was less palpable and yet, ever the sweeter for it." Tom's throat bobbed up and down as he swallowed and Harry averted his gaze in favour of staring into his wine glass. "To catch a predator, you need the mind of a predator. That's why Dumbledore was so good at his job."

Harry didn't miss the past tense and gripped the stem of his glass a little tighter. 

"And that's why I'm so good at my job, too?" 

"Dumbledore found you at a crossroads." 

"A crossroads," Harry repeated, putting some sharpness into his voice. "Are you calling me a demon, Tom? What has the Crossroad King to do with any of this?" 

"There were two paths you could have taken," Tom clarified instead of answering his question directly. "One led you to where you are now: caged, exploited—a mere tool, an asset, for the likes of Albus Dumbledore." 

Infuriatingly, Tom stopped there and regarded Harry with an indecipherable look from the corner of his eyes. 

"Alright, I'll bite. What about the other path? Where would that have led me?" 

There was that smile again and Tom finally turned his head to look at Harry properly. "It would have led towards your becoming." 

Harry let that cryptic statement hang between them and looked into Tom's eyes. It was strange. Over the course of a mere two days, he'd gone from avoiding eye contact with the man to… craving it? 

Tom's eyes were beautiful, of course, like all of him. Dark, sometimes a little too dark in the right lighting, with brilliantly white sclera and long, sensual lashes.

Staring into them, Harry could feel the beast trying to break free and Tom's words echoed in his head. Was he seeing into Tom's soul, or could he merely see his own reflection? 

"Why not both," Tom whispered. 

Harry flinched as if struck and his wine glass started to slip from his fingers. In the blink of an eye, Tom was sitting up, fingers curled protectively around Harry's so they were holding onto the glass together. No drop had been spilled. 

They were very close like this, and in an echo of yesterday's evening, Harry could feel Tom's warm breath ghosting over his face again. 

"Will you try to run once more, Harry?" Tom asked carefully, tightening his grip on Harry's fingers, "or are you staying?" 

Harry felt a lump in his throat and tried to swallow it down. "When I… when Aberforth came to talk to me today, I realised there's… that there's nothing I can trust in. Albus told me he was to be my bedrock when my visions would shock me. If they were to overcome me. But now? I would have never delved so deep into all of this if not for him."

"You saved lives," Tom reminded him with a smug expression. 

"Sure, yeah, I did. But what about those lives, Tom? What if I saved the next Albus Dumbledore or the next Quirrell or, hell, how about the next Crossroad King?" 

Tom leaned back again and loosened his grip. For a second, Harry thought he might follow the man, chase the warmth and the heady smell of wine and chocolate but he refrained from it. Instead, he studied Tom who seemed more closed off again all of a sudden. 

"Oh," he finally whispered and saw Tom's jaw clench. 

Unbidden, uninvited, the pendulum swung and Harry dove under. 

_"I am very close to getting what I want but I have been burned before, so I have become cautious. I have pushed enough and every further push will only take him away from me._

_My cards are dealt and every further confession will work against me. Only fate and time will tell whether I chose my moves wisely or whether I missed an opening and will suffer a debilitating checkmate._

_He knows, he knows it all and yet, yet—he closes his eyes; all two pairs of them. Isn't that right, Harry? Isn't this my design? **Can't you see it?** "_

"This is my design," Harry and Tom said in unison and Harry gasped as he held his head that was threatening to brim over with thoughts and feelings and motivations not his own. For some reason, they were standing now and he held his head while trying his best not to sink to his knees. 

"I see you, Harry Potter," Tom growled. 

Both their wine glasses were already on the floor, bleeding red onto the expensive rug between them. 

"But can _you_ see _me_?" 

_There was a new voice in the back of his head now and it whispered terrible secrets and dark revelations._

_The body of a young woman, nailed to a signpost, is not how Harry wanted to start his Thursday morning. The lady's black fringe obscures her eyes. When Harry uses a pen to lift it up, her eye sockets are empty and he nods bitterly. He sighs and cranes his neck to look at her left forearm. The Dark Mark sits there all innocent, empty skull eyes staring into his, skin around it an angry red. Its mouth seems to laugh at him. Made while the victim was still alive—again._

_"It's him," he tells Albus with a frown and looks toward the ground. "She'll be missing organs, maybe some other trophies as well. The nails used to secure her to the board look crude… Might be self-made?"_

_"Now, my boy, there's no place for 'might' here," Albus replies with a stern expression. "You need to look deeper. The Crossroad King kills in bouts of seven and this is victim six already. You need to **look**!"_

_Harry nods, breathes slowly to steady himself and stares at the naked girl's body. He's seen her before. Pansy Parkinson. She'd been rude to him in one of her articles in a psychology magazine. She'd doubted his… power and slandered his name as a conspirator of the Crossroad King._

_When he tries to make the pendulum swing, the world shifts and he finds himself in yet another old crime scene. A man has been strung up in the middle of a busy intersection, right in the city centre and no one has observed anything until the morning rush. And even then, he was only noticed because people couldn't see the traffic lights._

_They're working against the clock and Harry desperately tries to forget that it's Lucius Malfoy hanging there like a limb ragdoll, eyes plucked out, Dark Mark in place, and a delicate web of blue lines drawn all over his body._

_"Supposed to represent his veins and arteries," Harry theorises, brows drawn together. "Always too proud of his pedigree for his own good, throwing money at people he's wronged to make them shut up about it in public."_

_"And?" Dumbledore asks. "Is it him?"_

_"Sure is," Harry answers. "Victim number 7. He's done for now, and he left a calling card."_

_It's just a piece of paper stuffed into Lucius Malfoy's breast pocket, but it shows the Nordic rune 'sowilo', or, more accurately in this case, the lightning bolt scar on Harry's forehead. Not many people know where he's got it from and he wonders whether the Crossroad King somehow does._

_He doubts now that it was a coincidence that he personally knows all seven victims of the newest killing streak. The Crossroad King knows him, and all those murders have been committed for him._

_The pendulum swings._

Harry opened his eyes, both pairs of them, and looked at Tom. 

Where the handsome man had stood before Harry had blinked for an eternity, an eldritch monstrosity made of scales and sharp teeth was now staring at him with red eyes. Harry cocked his head to the side and the creature mirrored his movement. 

When he reached out with his right hand, the creature mirrored the gesture with its sharp-clawed left. Thus encouraged, Harry started closing the distance between them and the naga slithered towards him as well. 

When Harry looked down on himself, he was only half surprised to see his legs gone in favour of bright green scales and unfamiliar muscle. 

"Is this real?" he asked when their fingers touched and intertwined.

"What do you think?" Tom asked back with a wild smile, sharp fangs reflecting some unseen source of light.

Harry pondered that question carefully. Was this Tom's true face? Was it _his?_

"We're at a crossroads…" he realised and knew it to be true the moment he'd whispered the words. 

Tom's smile grew into a grin that was almost frightening in its intensity and there were entirely too many teeth in his mouth. Yet, instead of being frightened, Harry was struck by a sort of scholarly curiosity. The hand not currently entangled with Tom's reached out for the being's face and he marvelled at the smoothness of the shimmering scales.

When Tom spoke next, it was with a whole choir of voices. It should have probably been a cacophony but it sounded like the sweetest music to Harry. "And where will you turn, Harry Potter, now that you have stared Death in the face and lived to tell the tale?"

Harry returned Tom's burning gaze evenly. For just a second, he could see his own face reflected in the man's scarlet eyes and shivered at the assortment of sharp teeth protruding from his own mouth that made speaking a chore. 

"You're him," he pressed out, voice full of awe and horror. "You are the Crossroad King." 

An unearthly laughter filled Harry's head and Tom's serpentine body seemed to grow and grow and grow ever more massive until he filled out every corner of the vague approximation of his grand living room. Still, their faces stayed on eye level with each other while all around them, Tom's body lay coiled, his slowly moving scales reflecting the light so hypnotically that Harry could scarcely tear his gaze away. 

"I am he and he is me," Tom agreed, grinning, and pressed Harry's hand where it was now completely engulfed in his. "And you, darling, have come to my crossroads. So tell me: which path will you choose?" 

It wasn't a question anymore. Not really. Hadn't been since their embrace sometime the evening before, if he was being honest with himself. 

"If I choose your path," he asked anyhow, voice strong and confident, "where will you lead me?" 

Tom showed his pleasure at that question with a purring sort of sound that reverberated in Harry's ribs and feet and eardrums. 

"I will lead you to greatness, Harry," he promised, pulling Harry's hand towards his gargantuan mouth. "And I will facilitate your becoming under my tutelage." 

"Your tutelage?" 

"My tutelage, my devotion… I'll give it all to you, if you'll have it." Tom curled back in on himself and shrank until he looked like he'd first had when they'd arrived in their own little pocket dimension. "If you'll have _me_." 

It was all too easy to nod breathlessly and close the remaining distance between them. Harry looked up at Tom's face, breathless, closed his eyes and leaned forward. 

When their lips met, Harry became very aware of the way Tom's heart was hammering away in the man's chest. In a mirror image of the evening before, Harry's own heart beat calmly and steadily. 

Tom's lips were soft and warm and he returned Harry's kiss almost shyly. 

When they parted after that chaste, first kiss Harry opened his eyes and they were back in Tom's regular living room, with their regular person suits back on. 

"Harry…" Tom groaned, putting his free hand around Harry's waist and pulling him close. "You've seen my face and you kissed me. You kissed him! How did you… I expected you to be _with_ me, not to _be with me_!" 

"To answer your earlier question," Harry smiled and let go of Tom's hand only to put both arms around the man's neck, "I'll have you, and I'll follow your path towards my becoming." 

" _Our_ becoming," Tom corrected him gently after taking a moment to let Harry's words sink in and this time, it was he who closed the distance between them. 

Tom's lips were insistent on his and Harry moaned involuntarily when a wet tongue traced over his lips. The arms around his waist tightened and pulled him flush against Tom. Harry got on his tiptoes to be able to press his lips harder against Tom's and stumbled after him when the man made some steps backwards. 

He felt the impact as Tom's back met a wall and moved his hands from the man's neck to his face, deepening their kiss. When his tongue licked into Tom's easily yielding mouth, a full-body shiver ran through the other man and Harry became aware of strong hands gripping his thighs. 

Without breaking their kiss, Tom bodily picked him up, turned them around and pressed Harry into the wall with his body. On instinct, Harry's legs wrapped around the man's hips and he felt very good about the groan that elicited from Tom.

"Harry, fuck," Tom panted into his neck, voice deep and decidedly growly. "You're driving me fucking crazy here." 

"Oh, I'm sure that's an improvement," Harry teased but could only moan wantonly in response as Tom rolled his hips up into Harry's. 

"How about I show you the first step of your becoming right now, darling," Tom purred into his neck. 

"You did mention something about us becoming part of one another," Harry whispered, flushed, while Tom's hips started up a hypnotic rhythm of grinding up and into his crotch. "I wasn't quite sure which way to achieve that you were referring to, to be, hah, to be honest. Fuck, Tom…" 

"Gladly," Tom grinned and nipped at Harry's neck. Softly, experimentally. When Harry keened and bared his neck, Tom made a low, guttural sound somewhere deep inside his throat and busied himself with sucking on Harry's throat until he swore he must be a mess of bruised, red skin. 

It was a strange kind of revelation to realise that he _liked_ it. 

Meanwhile, Tom's hips were still steadily grinding into him and all those things together were becoming quite a bit too much for — "Fuck, Tom, I'm gonna, I'm so fucking close, Tom!" 

In lieu of an answer, Tom enthusiastically claimed Harry's mouth once more and gripped his hips with both hands, pulling them into his with every thrust. 

Panting, moaning, Harry managed to come into his pants with a cry of release that was greedily swallowed up by Tom's hot mouth. The other man's movements grew erratic, then, desperate, and he finally groaned his own release into Harry's mouth. 

"Like two horny teenagers," Harry panted, laughing breathlessly as they slowly sank down along the wall. 

"Harry," Tom whispered solemnly, kneeling between his legs. He cupped Harry's face in his hands and looked him deep in the eye. "You are magnificent." 

"That, wow, I'd agree that was magnificent, yes." Harry giggled. He'd always, always been giggly after sex. "But me? I don't know." 

Tom simply shook his head and kissed Harry to make him shut up. "If you're not, you will be," Tom promised. "I showed you my devotion, left you my calling card… and you're still here, here _again._ You chose me, my path, my devotion for you." 

Quite overwhelmed, all Harry could do was nod in response and take Tom's hands when he offered them. 

"I think shower," Tom decided, "and afterwards, I take you to bed. With the lights out, I'll have you share your dreams and fantasies with me, darling." 

Now that sounded like a sensible idea, Harry thought and a wild sort of desire bloomed in him. It quite felt like a ban had been lifted inside him—a dam broken, so to speak, and pent-up energy of thirty odd years pouring out. 

"What kind of fantasies, Tom?" he whispered heatedly, stepping closer. "Sexual? Murderous?" 

"All of them," Tom growled, eyes wild and hungry and desperate. "I want to know them all. Every last forbidden thing that's been caged into your mind, my heart. My soul. My becoming. I want to know all your secrets and in return… I'll show you mine." 

As he followed the beast deeper into its lair, Harry felt a tension drop from his shoulders he hadn't realised had been there all this time. He quite thought that, for the first time in his life, he felt like he truly belonged somewhere. 

And when Tom showed him his devotion that night with tongue and lips and his whole body, Harry knew he'd chosen the right path at the crossroads.


End file.
